


Sun in the morning

by woollen_pharaohs



Series: Shadows (ft. Dale & Harry) [2]
Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: M/M, old boys in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2017-09-08
Packaged: 2018-12-25 04:55:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12028557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: Harry gets a surprise visit from an old friend.(Set 25 years after 'Multitasking'.)





	Sun in the morning

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the Future Islands song of the same name, and story inspired by their song, [Shadows (ft. Debbie Harry)](https://vimeo.com/225287813).

Harry hears his nurse opening his bedroom door but he doesn’t take his eyes away from the pine trees twinkling in the morning sun. The leaves shimmering in the gentle breeze as if they have been dipped in silver. It’s has favourite time of the day even though it only lasts a couple of hours. The sun then rises, the morning dew evaporates, and the shadows of the looming forest hill swash over his lonely cottage.

His nurse clears her throat and says softly, “Mr. Truman, you have a visitor.”

Harry sits up with a jerk when the he sees his old friend entering his bedroom.

“Coop!”

A warm smile breaks out on Cooper’s face. “Harry.”

The nurse exchanges brief words with Cooper, hands him Harry’s morning tea on a tray, and then quietly excuses herself from the room.

His back strains from fixing him upright in such a sudden action, but he doesn’t relax because he can absolutely not believe his eyes. Agent Dale Cooper standing before him. Dressed in a neat suit just like he used to wear. His hair perfectly parted and waxed into shape. And his face wrinkled with time.

“It’s been a long time,” Cooper says softly as he brings the tray over with him and sits down on a chair beside Harry’s bed.

Harry watches his old friend, wide eyed, and dumbly repeats, “It’s been a long time.”

Cooper chuckles, his eyes glinting. Then, he rests the tray on his lap and pulls apart the plastic wrapper of Harry’s cheap meal. The plastic tears through the silence between them, the noise bearing unsettling weight rather than the absence of conversation. Cooper eases out the pre-baked apple pie onto the plate, unscrews the lid of the UHT milk carton and pours out a small glass, then goes to lift the tray on Harry’s lap before Harry stops him with a wave of his hand.

“I can’t eat right now.”

Cooper frowns. “You should eat, Harry.”

Harry closes his eyes with his breath caught in his lungs as he falls back decades ago, to when Dale Cooper first entered his life as unannounced as this. Pleasantly and politely, and disappeared without a trace. He opens his eyes slowly, the mirage of Cooper sitting in perfect posture where his nurse usually sits at this time of day, marking the end of a nice morning with the reality of his illness.

“You have it,” Harry says after a while, “She’ll mince it and make me eat it for dessert if I leave it.”

Cooper frowns again, but takes the tray back to his lap and picks up the small plastic fork.

“Sorry that it’s not cherry.”

Cooper lowers his eyes for a moment, a gently sloped smile on his face.

“I’m dying, Coop.”

The smile wipes clean. Solemnly, Cooper lowers the fork, picks up the plastic wrapper and carefully pushes the untouched pie back inside the wrapper. He takes a napkin and covers the pie exposed by the tear, then stands up to fit the small bundle in the pocket of his trousers. He sets the tray with only the plate, fork, glass of milk and carton on Harry’s bedside table, then places a firm grip on Harry’s shoulder.

“Should we sit outside?”

Harry looks up into Cooper’s black eyes and nods.

It’s a large effort but Harry isn’t ashamed to show his weakness in front of an old friend. Agent Dale Cooper was – is – the best FBI agent Harry has ever come across; his judgements have always been sage and just, and he took Harry’s struggle as not which one that should be pitied, but admired. His nurse insisted Harry use the walker frame from bedroom to veranda, the short distance that it was. He lets go of the walker and eases to sit down on the edge of the veranda beside Cooper, letting his legs dangle off the edge. His walker trails a few feet across the sloped veranda until the wheels lodge in a gap between the floorboards wide enough to trap it.

A cool, midday breeze wafts between them. Leaves above them rustling, the sound of dry rain rippling through the hills that surround them. Cooper observes his old friend slouching on the edge of the veranda, a full head of hair as thick as it was twenty-five years ago. Curls baked in form fitting aluminium, and Cooper wonders how it would feel to run his fingers through Harry’s hair now, perhaps the wiry greys would bring him as much pleasure as the firm browns did so before.

The sun becomes overcast, pulling a cold shadow over Twin Peaks, and Harry visibly shivers. It’s not much, and perhaps it’s old fashioned, but Cooper slings off his blazer nevertheless and rests it over Harry’s thin form. Harry laughs at the act, but thanks him. Then Cooper begins to tell his story, no more lonely or bizarre than Harry could have guessed, and slowly his hand creeps with the length of his tale, to join with Harry’s.

When he’s finished, he asks about Harry. There’s not much to say. Cooper already knew what the loss of Josie did to him. And after Cooper left Twin Peaks, a certain quiet came over the town. A disquiet, of sorts. Perhaps Harry became used to the wails that emitted from door knobs and wooden statues. A charming hex. And then came his illness, and his oncoming death.

Cooper squeezes Harry’s hand, warm with sincerity, and with all the words he wants to say to Cooper vacuumed by the wind, he rests his head on Cooper’s shoulder. A hum, a whimsical tune. Coop’s fingers brushing through his hair.

At lunch time, the nurse steps carefully out onto the veranda and earnestly urges Harry to return to his bed for his scheduled meal. Cooper holds Harry’s hand, taps his other over Harry’s forearm and he relents. Cooper helps Harry stand up, but as he does so, the apple pie falls out of Coop’s pocket and tumbles out along the floorboards. The napkin unfolds, and the nurse spots the contents.

“No, no, this won’t do,” She tuts as she goes to grab the pie, “You must _eat_ , Mr. Truman!”

She holds onto he pie, disgruntled when Harry refuses to take the walker back with him. Instead, Harry clutches onto Cooper’s arm and leans into his side, and they walk together, slowly, back to Harry’s room. The nurse hovers while Cooper helps Harry back into bed, all hushes whines and joints clicking and springs heaving. The nurse then pulls the bedding to Harry’s lap and places the tray on top, and pointedly places the pie beside Harry’s steaming soup. Cooper soothes her with encouraging words, and she leaves the two of them with their eyes inseparable.

Cooper plucks the pie off the tray and pockets it once more, then says, “You can keep my blazer if I can keep the pie.”

Harry’s face goes still. “Will you visit me again, Coop?”

Cooper lowers his eyes and nods, then draws in close to press his lips on Harry’s forehead. He rubs his thumb along Harry’s hairline, holding the kiss, then lets go.

Steam from Harry’s soup wafts up before his face as he watches Cooper walk out of his bedroom. A form of white, banked by black trousers and black hair, his silhouette in the shadow of the doorway. Then, Cooper leaves to be back again.  

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! Hope you liked it :)


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